


The Beginning of The End

by NGenius87



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, I am an asshole, Multi, but hopefully this will turn out with an actual plot haha, fair warning: when it comes to fanfics, maybe nobody; maybe some faves; I don't know, no major deaths yet but the fic is far from over and I'm not sure who's going to die, this turned out way different than how i had planned it going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:44:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8759053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NGenius87/pseuds/NGenius87
Summary: Takes place at the start of season seven. Negan takes Carl with him as a way to break Rick. He promises the boy will be returned when he comes to collect after two weeks have passed - but, after spending time at The Sanctuary, will Carl even want to go back to Alexandria?I'm shite at summaries and things could change, so we'll find out!





	1. I'm Taking the Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I've never read the comics and this is the only season of TWD that I've seen, so fierce apologies if anyone is OOC or I get a location or canon relationship wrong.

The barbed bat swung in front of his dad and it was all he could do not to launch himself at the leather-clad douchenozzle who had killed Abraham and Glenn. But lashing out would only enrage the guy, "Negan" he called himself, and it would mean even more people got hurt. So he remained stoic while the asshole lauded his own worth and value. He was whistling and smiling in that maniacal way, asserting his dominance over them all, even his own men.

His eye looked on his dad, trying to will him to just obey the psychopath now and strategise later when they were alone. But his dad was either looking at the ground or at Negan and that cursed bat dripping with his family's blood. The sight of the bat made him queasy, sick to his stomach, but he'd be damned if he was gonna retch in front of the so-called Saviors and show weakness. So he just looked at Negan, keeping his good eye directed at the man's face, glowering at him, hating the man intensely. However, it wasn't long before he found himself staring at the barbed, bloody head of the bat.

' Well, lookit here. ' Fucking fuck that man's smile. Carl wanted to punch the guy's face until his jaw broke. ' This one's got more stones than the rest of you all combined. ' Negan effortlessly swung the bat in a circle before resting it on his shoulder. ' You have two weeks to gather up valuables for us; then we'll be back here to collect and you _better_ make it worth my while. '

The man's voice had deepened, all jokes aside and it took far more willpower than Carl thought he had not to tremble in fear at the unspoken threat. Then that forsaken smile was back, tone mischievous and creepy all at once. ' But just to give you a _little_ incentive, I'm taking the boy. '

The cacophony of shouts and protests resounded throughout the group but Carl could only make out his dad, grovelling at this point, offering himself, offering to do anything as long as his boy stayed safe. It pained him to see his dad like this and even though his insides were churning with dread, he had to speak out, if only to spare his father further humiliation. His voice was alien to him, cracking and hoarse from lack of water, from not speaking for hours on end. ' Dad, stop! I'll go. '

Succinct - four words. That's all he was able to get out before his throat closed up on him, the pain of speaking too much to embellish his statement. Or maybe it was the pain of what they were going through - torment, rage, heartbreak, being scared out of their fucking minds.

Negan clicked his tongue and Carl could feel the rush of air on the front of his pants as Lucille swung dangerously close to his crotch. He had even braced for its impact, noticing that only when the lack of it caused him to lose all tension, his body was supported by the bastard's goons. ' The cajones on this one! You _sure_ he's yours, Rick? '

There was a broken look on his dad's face that he'd never seen before, something that seemed to run much deeper than what Negan was doing; it even made him wonder for a second if what Negan had said had some truth to it.

' Please...my son...please don't... ' His dad's words were soft, deferential, a plea for mercy. But they fell on deaf ears as Negan's men dragged him toward the trailer, no signal to stop or pause. He tried to keep his steps up so the mens' arms weren't as painful. He could still hear his father's disparaging screams getting louder the farther away he got from the group, trying to get Negan to change his mind. Carl knew that it was useless, knew that his father kept showing how weak he was, but in the back of his mind, Carl thanked him for it. Thanked him for trying anything - saying - promising anything to get his son back.

He liked to think - if he lived long enough, that is - that he'd do the same thing for his own children - that this war wouldn't get to him so much so that he'd write his own son or daughter off as expendable for the sake of the greater good. Surely, being completely willing to sacrifice every shred of humanity, strength, and dignity to protect those you loved proved you were more courageous than not.

The sobs were gut-wrenching, something Carl felt everywhere in his body, his blood, deep inside where there was no escape, where nothing could be taken away from him. It was more than just losing his eye - he could manage without that, had for a while. This was facing the prospect of losing a part of him that he didn't think he could live without - it was like he was sharing the heartache his father was feeling. How could he ever have thought he wasn't Rick's son?

He felt ashamed that he'd let Negan get in his head in that moment. He wanted to fight, run to his father's arms and be held like he was a child - a stage of life this fucked-up world had ripped away from him a few years ago. But instead, his feet were tripping up the steps of the trailer, a gruff hand pushing him past the open door, onto the floor. He was just present enough to pull his knees to his chest - fucking foetal position - so his ankles weren't jammed when the door shut.

It was quiet now, here in the quasi-darkness of the early morning. He was alone, but he knew that any chance to try and leave would prove futile - indubitably fatal for him, for his dad, for his family members who were still alive out there, possibly all of them. He didn't even want to chance peeking out the window - here and now, he was isolated; he didn't have to look at the carnage and death pervading the atmosphere outside.

Carl wanted to cry, wanted to break down within the confines of the metal mobile home. But no matter how much he yearned to let go of the overwhelming despair, his body wouldn't listen to him. Instead, his brain was trying to case his surroundings - trying to figure out someway to outsmart or overpower whoever came in next. He got up and looked around.

There was a small stove top - he could leave the gas on for as long as he was able, strike a match and blow the damn thing - there was alcohol here if he needed fuel. But that would kill him too, and he didn't want to put his father through that, die for sure when he may not even be able to take the bastard Negan out with him. There was a table, cushioned seats on opposite ends, with a couch on the other side facing it. But it was what was on that table that sparked a tiny glimmer of hope inside him.

A Bowie knife - long, jagged, curved, with a wrapped handle that would provide an excellent grip. He could get it now before anyone saw him - pray that whoever came in hadn't remembered it being there before. It was just too easy - but beggars couldn't be choosers. He picked it up, adjusting quickly to the weight of it. His brain was supplying choices in rapid-fire mode, knowing that someone could walk in at any moment.

If he brandished it, he wouldn't be able to get close enough to use it before a gun was pulled on him - so that plan went into the junk pile along with blowing the trailer up. Goddamned depth perception was too fucked up, throwing it was out of the question as well - junk pile. He could hide it, wait until the perfect opportunity arose - when they came in, set their guns down, dropped their guard just that little bit.

So he took a seat on the couch, shoving the knife into the crevice between the cushion and the arm. Then, he simply tried to forget about it; the slightest expression slip might give away that he had it and then he'd be up shit creek. He clasped his hands together and slid his arms between his knees, bending over and breathing slowly, in and out - he had a plan, now all he needed was a chance.

Then his brain played devil's advocate. If they knew the knife was missing, they might check where he was, so he got up and sat on one of the table's booths, his body slim enough that he could face the aisle. His eyes darted to where he'd hid the knife, trying to see if it was noticeable - not that he could see. He moved his head, making up for his lost eye to see the couch from another angle. Then, when he felt that it was well-hidden, he relaxed into the booth.

Breathing in, breathing out, that's what he told his body to do. Just breathe - he didn't think it would be up for anything else right now - maybe sleep, but fuck that! It was the banging noise of the trailer door that roused him from his stupor. It had been a few minutes of blissful nothing, now interrupted with the sound of chuckling and stomping. Carl lifted his head, refusing to admit that he'd jumped clean out of his skin when Negan came in, followed by another, lankier fellow. He still hated the man, more than the walkers, more than any asshole he'd ever met, and the glare he gave Negan never wavered.

That damn smile was plastered on his face as he barked for the other guy to get behind the wheel. ' I think it's better I stay here, explain the rules to our young friend. '

Carl watched as Negan sat opposite him on the couch. He hated his lack of peripheral vision; if he'd had it, he would have been able to check his hiding spot without it being completely obvious. Instead, he looked down at the floor, let Negan think of that what he would. Carl turned his head to look at rear of the trailer, fear of leaving his family a plausible excuse, then turned it slowly back to Negan to spare a glance at the knife. Shit! When he'd checked if the knife had been visible, he hadn't taken into account the possibility that if the middle of the cushion were under weight, the edge would tilt up near the arm. As it was, the pommel was in plain sight.

Luckily, it was just him, Negan, and the driver (who thankfully was already up front and putting the trailer into gear, ready to pull out and follow the convoy) - and Negan was looking directly at him. There was still a chance his plan would work.

-*-*-*-

' So, Carl... ' The boy had that single eye trained on him, meeting Negan's own penetrative gaze - he was a little bit thrilled the boy could unabashedly stare at him with such vehemence - something none of the adults could do by the time he'd left. In that regard, Negan respected the boy just a little. ' I'm a very reasonable man, so I'm going to explain something to you, give you a choice. Ready? '

There was a pause before the boy responded. ' Whatever. '

Negan lost the smile at Carl's nonchalance. He spread his legs and leaned forward, pointing Lucille directly at the boy's face. ' You _will_ treat me with respect, so try that again. '

The boy's chest rose and fell with trepidation, eye darting to the floor and back up so their gazes met again. Negan could see how the boy set his jaw, the tension obvious in his tone as well. ' Yes, sir; I'm ready. '

Negan smiled then, resting against the back of the couch again and placing Lucille across his thighs. ' See, that wasn't so hard. Now, you're with me for two whole weeks - your return is dependent upon how well your little group follows my rules. It also depends on _you_. What happened out there is no doubt still replaying in your pea-sized brain. You want to hate me for it, go right ahead - but do not try anything. Don't try to be some sort of hero or martyr - there's a _big_ difference in being brave and being stupid. So which are you? Brave? Or stupid? '

_There_ was the tremble he'd been waiting for, that slight wariness in his expression; Negan could see Carl going over his options and wondering what to say as a reply. Negan held out his hand, palm side up. There was no mirth in his tone and he dropped his usual smile once more. ' Do _not_ make me spell it out for you. '

He stayed patient with the boy however, watching the way Carl thought, wanting to count how long it took him to obey his owner. He saw Carl purse his lips as he swerved his head to the side in defeat; saw the way he shut that one eye of his, knowing he'd lost. Negan straightened when the boy stood up, grinning wolfishly as the smaller guy flinched away in fear.

But Carl simply sat down beside him, looking rather forlorn and pitiful. The kid took a deep breath before reaching down with his right hand and pulling the Bowie knife out of the couch. It took Carl a little while longer until the boy's shaky hand reluctantly placed the grip into his hand. Negan's closed his fingers around the short hilt, sorely tempted to jerk it away quickly enough so that the blade sliced Carl's hands. He held back though, as a tiny show of good faith, flipping the hilt in his hand, reaching over and placing it back on the table. ' You took twenty-three seconds to obey me, Carl. That is a _long_ time to make me wait. '

Gone was the animosity, gone was the bravado - the change in Carl was immediate. Negan was a vulture, his mind's eye taking in every element of weakness - from the shaking of the boy's shoulders, the subtle way he kept leaning away from him, his head facing forward, staring at God-knows-what. Negan placed Lucille on the table alongside his knife. He used his left hand to whip out and grab the boy by the chin, standing up and pulling the kid with him, shoving him against the cabinetry near the couch. ' Look at me when I'm talking to you. '

The fear was evident in Carl's eye and Negan leapt at the chance to further exacerbate that. ' Are you afraid of me now, is that it? Where are those balls you displayed earlier, huh? No one around to see you puff up your chest - you just deflate like a little bitch? Well, guess what? You _are_ \- you are _my_ bitch, just like your dad, just like your entire little community back there and these next fourteen days are going to be nothing but hell unless you understand that. So are we going to have any more problems? '

Negan released his hand as Carl jerked his head, stepping backwards and adding a push so that the boy stumbled to the floor. He walked over to Carl, bending down to grasp the material of the boy's shirt, picking him up rather easily. The kid's hands were holding onto his wrists, trying to get some purchase and stand up. Continuing down the aisle towards the back, he tossed Carl onto the bed, going to work removing that damned shirt, ripping it off and discarding the remains behind him. The boy was moving frantically in his pale attempt to try and apologise, but he wasn't having any of it.

Negan flipped the boy over on his stomach and pressed his hand against the boy's back. ' I highly suggest you don't move. '


	2. Grimes and Gratitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the longest time, I was transcribing from paper to computer, but then RL got in the way, and then I had to transfer everything from my desktop to a laptop. Then I tried going back to this fic when things had settled down, but I couldn’t find the file - and I really thought I had thrown away the papers I’d written up, so I was half-ready to abandon it and half-ready to just pick up and start the re-write of this chapter. Thankfully, I ended up coming across the rough draft in one of my notebooks and eagerly started typing it up again.
> 
> This stops being what I wrote in my notebook after the “two" paragraph because I found out what almost happened to Carl at the end of Season 4 and my brain came up with something entirely new - which still stays in canon with how Negan is, so score on that! Anyways, after I’ve made you all wait about 6 months, here’s Chapter 2. Next chapter will pick up at the Sanctuary, with Negan giving Carl the full tour, yada yada yada - because I haven't written any of it yet.

It was as if both his heart and stomach had dropped out of his body completely. He didn’t know what was going to happen, a million things running throughout his head. With Negan as unpredictable and unbalanced as he’d seen this morning, and Carl unaware of his limits - how far he’d truly go to assert his dominance - anything was possible. The hand against his back was removed, but Carl was too paralyzed with fear to disobey Negan. Even though every instinct in his body was telling him to move, if he did, whatever the punishment was going to be would only be ten times - a hundred times - worse.

A chinkling sound, coupled with the long _thwip_ of leather against leather were unmistakable cues of a belt being unbuckled and and slipped from the loops of Negan’s pants. What was about to happen hit Carl with a wave of nausea. _Oh God, anything but that!_ ‘Please! I’ll do better, I promise!’ He couldn’t understand how this man could degrade and humiliate so many people in under twelve hours. His voice was small; he was actually begging the guy to spare him. He’d faced off against countless walkers, lost his damn eye, but this man - this terror - he faced now had him reduced to a snivelling shell. To nothing more than the “little bitch” Negan called him earlier. Carl shivered in disgust at the fact that it was highly likely he was going to become Negan’s _bitch_.

With his brain headed in such a horrifying direction, he couldn’t stop the sharp intake of air into his throat and lungs when the belt whipped across his bare back. It was a mix of pain and relief and his breaths were quick to get his bearings and calm himself, telling his brain that all he had to deal with was a beating.

‘Count and thank me for each one. You wasted twenty-three seconds of my time, so that’s how many lashes you get.’

Carl heard the low timbre of the man’s voice and knew he was deadly serious. ‘One . . . thank you.’

The force of the next blow hurt even more that Carl had to swallow the scream, the sound escaping through his nostrils in a painful snort. But before he could count it aloud, Negan’s voice rang out, full of wrath. ‘Sir! You will call me _sir_ every time.’

‘ _Two_ , thank you, sir.’ Carl wasn’t sure how he was going to last through twenty-one more whips. A sharp pain - an intense pain - he could handle, but a prolonged pain? He wasn’t sure how long he could put up with it before something snapped. But if he just obeyed, maybe things would be all right afterwards. Besides, getting beaten was a helluva lot better than the alternative.

‘Well, damn, if _that_ don’t sound sincere. Are you _really_ thanking me, kid?’ Negan’s voice had that playful edge again, and Carl shivered a little as he nodded, wondering how in the world a person’s tone could go from vicious killer to class clown and back again so effortlessly. Negan was insane and Carl decided he was actually scared of him moreso because of it.

‘Yes, sir.’ And that was when his stomach clenched, when all the memories of that redneck asshole came back. The helplessness he felt as he squirmed on his back while the fucker laughed, pinning him down over and over no matter how many times Carl broke free. By the time he had heard the belt coming undone, he had known what was going to happen, they had said as much. But Negan, as much of a monster as he was, as blood-thirsty as he was, was only beating him. He couldn’t stop the tears once they’d started, his body wracking with sobs. ‘I thought . . . I thought . . .’

-*-*-*-

Negan was disappointed the moment Carl started crying - not even three lashes in and the boy cracked. But then those words came out, broken and shaking. All the humour was gone from the atmosphere, and most of his anger as well; Negan dropped his arm from where it had been poised to strike Carl a third time - and then twenty more times after that. Ducking his head from his own shame, he realised he should have told Carl what was going to happen before he’d manhandled him.

‘Shit, kid,’ Negan whispered. He tossed his belt onto the bed beside the boy and took a seat. ‘I’m going to tell you right now, that shit don’t fly under my rule - quickest way to the death penalty. You will _never_ have to worry about that at the Sanctuary. Sit up, kid.’ He slapped Carl on the arm to jolt the boy into action.

As Carl did what he was told, furiously wiping at that single eye of his, Negan sat forward, trying to think of the best way to broach such a sensitive, heinous topic. ‘You ever . . . uh?’

Glancing sideways, he saw Carl shake his head. ‘No . . . it almost, though . . . but my dad, he - he killed the sons-a-bitches.’

Negan nodded, understanding now what had made Rick so frantic in his pleas. ‘Hard to imagine that. It was pretty easy for me and my men to strike the fear of God into your little group.’

‘It was a few years ago. There were four of us, and four or five of them, I can’t remember - it was pretty dark. But my dad, Daryl, and Michonne were ambushed - held at gunpoint - Daryl was getting beaten up . . . This one guy pulled me out of the truck, started . . . started threatening things. I fought, but I was younger, he was larger - a lot larger.’

Negan could hear how troubled the boy’s voice sounded and wanted to tell the kid he didn’t need to hear the story - that there was no sense in Carl reliving what had almost happened. But sometimes, people needed to talk about the bad shit that happened, if just to help them heal and move on - like just saying it made ‘em realise that it was all in the past - that they survived that shit and were stronger - harder - because of it. So, instead of interrupting, Negan just listened - letting Carl pause when he needed to. Besides, he was pretty interested to hear how Ricky saved his kid - the previous leader of that ragtag group didn’t seem like he could do much of anything at gunpoint, let alone take out a handful of men.

‘The old guy who called the shots - he started talking - telling my dad stuff - said they were going to kill Daryl, rape Michonne, then me - all while making my dad watch. But I saw my dad’s face - he was . . . eerily calm . . . pissed - but calm. And then the guy on top of me started undoing his belt, then went for my pants. I’d never been more scared of anything in my life. But that was when my dad flew into a rage. He knocked that old guy away but there was a gunshot - no one knew what had happened at first or if anyone had gotten shot - everything stopped for what felt like a minute.

‘My dad was stumbling a bit as he got to his feet - I didn’t know . . . if I had been about to lose him or what - but the gunshot, turned out it just disoriented him since it was so close to his head when it went off. Then the old guy went after him again - my dad ripped his throat out with his goddamned teeth - just bit in and . . .’

Damn, but Negan was impressed. It was still hard to imagine, but he didn’t get the sense that this kid was lying about anything. And maybe there was a part of Carl that was telling this story in some attempt to get to him - scare him a little that Negan would just drop him back off at Alexandria. If Rick wanted to grow some balls and come get his kid, then Negan would deal with that if it happened. But no amount of stories was going to change his mind - he wanted to _see_ the man be the badass his reputation had promised - after all, stories were just that: stories.

‘Everyone just froze then - Michonne was the first to snap out of it - turned the gun around on the guy who had her. Then Daryl lit in to the guy - or guys - who had him. The one on me though, he pulled me up, had a knife on me, threatened to kill me. But then he got scared - the way my dad was looking at him, walking towards us - he backed away and started begging for mercy. Michonne pulled me close, tried to shield me - but I watched as my dad stabbed that dude over _and over_ again. I always thought my dad was too . . . but, in that moment, I was transfixed . . . I understood why he was the way he was and I was proud of him.’

There were several beats of semi-silence; the rumble of the engine, the sound of tires moving on gravel, lungs breathing in and out steadily - all breaking up the severity of the moment. Negan breathed out through his nose, thinking he’d kind of like to meet that Rick. ‘Well, that may be, kid - but something’s done changed now; I think your dad’s gone a little too soft - grown a bit too complacent. Enter me - ready and willing to shake up his world, keep him on his toes.’

Giving the kid a playful nudge - shoulder to shoulder, he winked at him. ‘Now, after this little sharing session - I’ve got quite the decision to make. Do I give you a pass or do I finish giving you a whoopin’?’

Negan watched the kid, raised his eyebrows in humour as the boy just shrugged like he cared fuck-all what was going to happen now. ‘Either is fine by me.’ Negan kept his eyebrows raised, pointedly, though, silently reminding Carl of his previous rule. ‘Sir.’

That was better. The kid sure learned quickly and Negan hoped he’d put this much effort into working with him at the Sanctuary. ‘That bandage. Take it off and we’ll call it even.’

The look that fell over Carl’s face was practically ashen, that one good eye of his staring at Negan as if horrified at the very thought. Negan dropped all humour, letting the boy know he was dead serious.

‘When I tell you to do something, you do it.’ The kid sighed and closed his eyes in contemplation, but at least he was moving his hands up at the same time. A fast learner indeed. As much as his shoulders slumped and started to shake again, Carl just kept unwrapping. When the dirty white linen finally fell off completely, Carl slowly turned to look towards him, pushing his hair out of the way.. Negan _tsk_ ed his tongue, sucking in a bit of air as he took in the sight before him - this kid with balls of steel, but still a kid, looking up at him with his left eye and a huge, scarred hole of a socket on the right side of his face. ‘Damn.’

Carl’s face dropped and Negan could tell he was about to start crying. ‘Hey, kid. Look at me. That is nothing to be ashamed of. You should be fucking proud of that - a goddamn badass badge of honour. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it is _gross as hell!_ , and it’s probably not going to help you when you’re trying to get laid, but it. is. badass. I kind of want to touch it.’

Negan let out a bark of laughter when Carl jerked his head in surprise. ‘I’m just screwing with you kid. You ain’t covering that up again, though; at least not with that shit. I might be able to scrounge up an eye-patch or something, just so nothing crawls in when you’re sleeping.’ Negan dipped his head to take another look at the gaping hole in Carl’s face - it was still red, probably not more than year ago that it happened.

‘I’m going to . . . let you in on a little secret.’ Negan gestured with two gloved fingers for Carl to get closer, smiling as the kid inched his head closer, leaning in. ‘You walk around, looking like you do right now, ain’t _no one_ going to fuck with you.’

He leant back against the wall, stretching out a bit, watching as Carl straightened and mirrored his stance on the opposite side of the bed.

‘Except for you, right?’

Negan was surprised at Carl’s audacity to adopt such a cavalier tone, but again - this kid with balls the size of a goddamn planet. Negan smiled wide, letting the comment slide. ‘That’s right. And you want to know why that is?’

‘Because . . . you’re the boss.’

‘You are two for two, boy! Badass, smart as a whip . . . do you _have_ any faults?’

‘Nope; that’s me. Ab-so- _lutely_ perfect.’

The kid’s tone was full of sarcasm, but the ease with which he spoke gave Negan the impression he could shoot the shit with the best of them. Negan grinned wide, letting the expression falter as he got up and grabbed his belt. Turning back around, he whipped the belt back towards Carl, catching the kid’s legs. He grinned again as Carl hissed, but when the kid looked back up at him, Negan could have sworn Carl almost smiled.

Opening one of the top cabinets, Negan fished a clean grey shirt out, tossing it to the kid. He re-looped and fastened his belt as he spoke. ‘That might be too big for you, but it’s clean. We’ll be at the Sanctuary soon enough.’

Turning to the table, he tucked the large knife into a strap on his pants and picked up Lucille. Halfway down the aisle, he turned back. ‘Welcome to a whole new world, Carl.’


End file.
